


Into the Fire 3- The Girl from Braavos

by AineDoyle



Series: Into the Fire [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Murder, The Faceless Men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:08:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3097628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AineDoyle/pseuds/AineDoyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A flashback of Arya's Mission for Gendry</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Fire 3- The Girl from Braavos

**Author's Note:**

> This is intended for those who read A Dance with Dragons. There is some spoilers of the series. Please do not read, if you do not want any spoilers.

A girl with no name settled down under the stars of Braavos. The sound of waves crashed against the large Titan that drifted her into a lull of an almost sleep -like state, but she was very aware, just like she was taught in the House of Black and White.

She heard small steps behind her. She listened intently as the steps sounded small, like a child but had the confidence of a man. The girl kept quiet as a shadow as the small steps got closer. As they approached the girl they stop. The girl pretends to stay asleep, but she is not afraid because fear cuts deeper than swords. The small steps still remained and the girl was ready to have them walk to the Many Face God, but knows that death is chosen by the only one, and he must choose wisely.

“I have been looking all over for you,” a man’s voice called to the girl and the girl responded by putting a blade up against his throat. The voice belonged to a little man who she might have known in her previous life, but that was when she had a name. Now she is no one. The Imp raised his hands in surrender and she lowered the blade.

“I am not here to hurt you, Arya,” he said. He called her a name that she has long forgot. A forgotten name means nothing to her. It is one of many names that she will be called once she has finished her training at the House of Black and White.

“You must be mistaken, Arya was thrown into the canal and is no more,” the girl replied.

“Aye, no more, but not dead, and the death of Arya Stark is the only think that will keep me from finding her or from her finding this,” the Dwarf lifted a tiny sword that was forgotten so long ago.

The girl reached out for Needle and at the moment the sword went into her hands did the name Arya Stark no longer became forgotten.

Like a tidal wave, emotions, fears, pain that she had known before came to her and knocked her off her feet. She cried for the first time in many months as images of her father’s death, the death of Yoran, the death of her mother and brother, the Hound crying to her confessing his sins about Sansa, and Gendry yelling for her as she left him forever.

The last memory was so painful that it took her my surprise. She was a stupid little girl then. She was a girl of thirteen now and understands the things Sansa was saying that seemed so stupid then. Had she known what she knows now she would have denounce her lady title and highborn status and be the forest lass like the song sung so long ago by Tom of Sevenstreams. Tears came down her cheeks, but the dwarf did little to comfort her.

“Arya, I need you,” the Imp said, not even waiting for her to calm down, “I need you to finish your training to become a Faceless Man. Speak this encounter to no one. Once you learn all the skills you need to learn, send this coin to a band of Mummers, and meet me in this exact spot a fortnight later.”

The Imp handed her a heavy coin made of thick iron painted with blood so dark, but seemed to look like it ignited when shone in flame. Arya nodded and clutched Needle goodbye as she handed it back to Tyrion. The Dwarf took the tiny sword and disappeared as noisily as he came up. 

Ten Years Later…

A tall woman of auburn hair and a beauty beyond compare was sauntering the streets of Braavos. She tried to find a man whom she had been searching for in Ragman’s Harbour outside the House of Seven Lamps. Instead she found someone else. The stench of him could be smelled for blocks away. She sauntered seductively over to him waiting for him to finish his vomiting before she made herself known.

“What whorehouse are you from,” he eyed her hungrily. He reached out to touch her tit to which she allowed. He eagerly grabbed the second, which caused the pretty girl to balk.

“I am looking for Ser Goalumn,” she said in the most lady-like fashion she could muster. It has been years since she has even seen a lady, let alone spoke like one, but there was a time that she was to become one, but that was a lifetime ago, and that girl has long been no more.

The man vomited up stinky ale before getting a chance to answer. The pretty woman of auburn hair spied blood in the mix of spew. _Poison_ , she thought. This man was chosen by the Many-Faced God. She had to act now before it was too late and Ser Goalumn would be lost forever. He was not a man to wait. A late arrival would be the difference of victory and defeat.

“Please ser, I need to know where he is,” she asked so earnestly. She moved her shoulder ever so slightly that her tit would peak through her rough-spun dress. The man coughed and sputtered more blood as he pointed to a dark tavern that would have been missed by anyone else in Braavos.

The pretty girl went into the tavern to find it so dark that only the light of small candles illuminated the dank room. It smelled of stale ale and greasy fish pies, but there he was. He was huddled in a corner with a modest cape trying to conceal his nobility.

“Ser Goalumn,” she stated. He looked at her with a sinister look. In the dark light, his eyes looked even darker. A few wisps of light hair slipped beneath the hood of the rough spun cloak. He was handsome with high cheekbones and a hooked nose.

“Sansa,” he said. He spoke to her like she was a play thing his mother refused to give him. The auburn haired girl smiled and curtsied. It was a while since she was in court, and she needed to remember how to be a lady. Even when she was in court, she was never a lady.

“My good Ser,” she whispered so low that only a mouse could hear her. She took him by the hand and led him up stairs. He obliged and followed her up to his chambers.

Once there he removed his cloak to reveal silks bright as the Dornish sun. She removed her cloak and let it fall to the floor. Her corset was loosely tied and her full teats were peaking above her dress. The Sansa that was remembered would never let such things happen, but the Ser Goalumn does not know that.

He grabbed them hungrily, pinching the nipples hard. Pushing her against the barred door he lifted her up and ravished her neck with bites and kisses. The auburn haired girl could feel the power of his strength and she felt her mound dampen with desire. Physical desire was all she felt for the man. His arm muscles rippled under his skin and radiated the heat of sexual passion, but his nature was anything but warm. There was no affection, no love. It was not like the boy with the bull helmet that she remembers so long ago.

Goalumn quickly unbuttoned his tunic and shrugged it off his shoulders. The auburn hair girl looked at him with hunger in her eyes. Gods he was good and sexy. A piece of her wanted him inside her. She knelt down and carefully undid his breeches. His large cock popped out and she hungrily took it.

This was not the first time she has taken him with her mouth. They have been secretly seeing each other for quite some time. He knew her as Sansa Stark, the heir of Winterfell. They are to be married and he would be King in the North. With the North behind another Stark, the Lannisters could not touch him for a bad deed he did to them so long ago. Sometimes, the girl with auburn hair wonders if he lusts for her or for the power she possesses.

The girl with auburn hair took his column in her mouth and sucked hard has she bobbed up and down. She hands rubbed his balls and he moaned and grabbed her hair.

“That’s it my little she-wolf. Suck me harder you cock slut,” he moaned. She let him bob her head to the rhythm that he liked. But he would never cum in her mouth. No that would be too easy. He liked to hold off, ravish her with kisses until he took her any way he planned.

Both planned to wait for cunt penetration until the wedding. The girl suspected he wanted to see if it could be used as a bargaining chip later. She was pulled up by her hair. He yanked her head back exposing her neck. He kissed her neck softly at first; his free hand flicking her nipple. The sensations made her hot with wetness. He liked to make her wet. He needed her wet.

He nipped her throat and pinched her nipple harder. Pain shot through her and caused her to call out.

“Ahh,” she screamed. She was met with a slap in the face.

“You will be silent, or on our wedding night I will slice your stomach and let you eat your insides,” he cruelly stated. His eyes were so close to her that she could see purple in them. Gods those eyes were handsome. But she knows that pretty purple things often have deadly secrets. She had deadly secrets as well.

He released his grip and picked her up. She loved being in his arms. They were strong, but they probably could not wield a hammer. They were strong enough to drop her on the bed. The straw mattress smelled of piss and vomit, and she already felt the fleas crawl in her hair.

Ser Goalumn wasted no time stripping her rough spun dress off her tall, beautiful body. The girl with auburn hair knew he likes what he sees and that she was beautiful. She was not always beautiful. There was a time she was called Horseface. But now she was beautiful, even if it was only for a little longer. The handsome knight tore at her dress with fervor. She was lying there in her small clothes as he fumbled with her corset. She attempted to help him undo the laces and was thanked by another smack across the face. She cursed him and herself silently. She knew better than that. Only he likes to undress her.

Soon the complex claps and laces were too frustrating and his dark eyes grew even darker. He took out a knife and the girl with auburn hair readied herself for a mortal strike. But instead of slicing her, he sliced the corset and sent it flying on the floor along with her small clothes. Now he had more of her luscious body to play with.

He ran his knife slowly down her neck, between her breasts and resting gently on her sternum. The girl felt the cold steel against her bare skin and hoped that he did not have any dark ideas.

He continued down to her stomach and to her belly button. She breathed in and out calming herself and preparing what he has in store. She knew that fear cuts deeper than any sword.

Goalumn turned the point towards her belly button and drew a star across her unadulterated skin. It was enough to leave a scar and brand her his for the rest of her life, and his she was, if only just for a little longer.

The knight sucked her new wound drawling more blood. He bit the edges and sent pain soaring throughout her body. She grabbed his hair to keep from screaming out. His fine, almost silver hair tangled in her finger. It was so light, but in her mind she imagined it thick and black.

The Ser slipped two fingers into her mound and messaged her from the inside. He hit her sweet spot and she felt herself grow tense with desire. When her bleeding wound had stopped he moved to her teats, each nipple peaking with a yearning to be toyed with.

He obliged as he licked and sucked like a babe to a mom. He occasionally flicked the peak with his tongue which sent her burning loins bucking. She was getting wet. That was what he wanted. Her own wetness seeped down her leg and up her arse. That told him that she was ready.

He flipped her on her stomach so fast that it knocked the wind out of her. She struggled to remain composed as he drove his penis deep into her freshly lubricated arse.

“Now move,” he ordered and she began to thrust against his penis. This was the part she liked the most. She could hit all the placed in her bugger that she liked. She moved slowly, which was not to his liking and he told her so with a smack on her ass with his sword belt.

She moved faster to avoid another whack, but he apparently loved it the first time and smacked her again. He smacked her a few more times before she gave up on the trusting.

He grabbed her hair and forced her to look at him as he continued to thrust deep inside her. Once, he leaned down, without breaking rhythm to whisper in her ear, “I want to see you cry for me. Shed tears my little whore.” She has not cried in ten years since she was presented with Needle, but she learned to fake tears, and fake tears streamed down her face.

Soon Ser Goalumn’s penis was ready to release his seed and he grabbed her roughly by the hips and drove into her as fast and deep as he could. The girl with auburn hair moved like a ragdoll with her arse smacking loudly against his trusting hips. Soon his seed released deep inside of her and both collapsed on the bed.

“We are to make it to Westros tonight,” Ser Goalumn said as he pinched and twisted her nipple for good measure. The pain was no longer pleasant to the girl with auburn hair.

With a flick of her wrist she maneuvered a small blade that she has been holding all night around her finger and sliced his throat at the jugular. The shock of his own blood sent Ser Goalumn in a panic as he grabbed at her, but she was swift as a cat. She may not be pretty as her sister Sansa, but Arya Stark was fast. Ser Goalumn looked surprised when he saw her face for the first time

“You’re not Sansa Stark,” he astounded. He sputtered more blood. She had to act quickly.

“And you are not Ser Goalumn either are you Ser Gerold Dayne,” she stated as she watched the Darkstar’s life leave his purple eyes.

 

Arya ran out of the inn as fast as she could. All that Syrio Forel had taught her went racing through her head. Swift as a deer. Quiet as shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The man who fears losing has already lost. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords.

A fortnight ago she has send the blood coin to the band of Mummer in Braavos. Now she raced to get to the canals to meet the man that ten years ago gave her the only possession she had of her previous life.

Arya raced as fast as she could and got to the canal in no time flat. It was the exact time in the exact place, exactly a fortnight from completing her training. She expected to be waiting for the Imp, but to her surprise he sat on the straw bed that she slept in so many nights ago.

“On time,” the Imp called when she saw her, “I always thought Faceless Men keep their own schedules”.

“I am not a man,” said the three and twenty woman who was a stupid little girl in Westros so long ago. The Imp laughed and nodded in agreement. Arya noticed the slight flicker to her bosom through the thread bare cloak. She dressed so quickly in Darkstar’s shirt and breeches that she failed to realize that it exposed her breasts.

Tyrion gave Arya Needle and once again a flood of emotions came to her the moment the small sword touched her hand. Tears came once more, and it frightened her how easily emotions came when she tries so hard to suppress them.

“Arya, did you remember a man named Gendry,” Tryion inquired, his black eye appraising her for sincerity. She was shocked, and afraid. What would this dwarf want with Gendry? She shook her head and gave him a quizzical face as convincing as she could.

“That’s all well, he may remember you. You traveled together in the Brotherhood Without Banners before the Red…” the dwarf stopped abruptly before he brought up one of the most painful memories of her entire life, “I will need for you to help me gain his favor. Cercei intends to use King Tommen as her own personal mouthpiece. He may be an adult, but he was kept ignorant his entire life on the ways to rule a country. It is vital that I use Robert Baratheon’s bastards to discredit my nephew and most importantly remove me sweet sister from rule.”

Arya was surprised that a Lannister would do such a thing to his family. What did Gendry have to do with this plan? Would he protect the Imp as he makes his quest for overthrow the Queen? If he succeeded, would he reward Gendry or kill him? A Lannister always pays his debts, but it was the Lannisters that sent the Goldcloaks after him so long ago.  

“What do you want with this Gendry anyway?” Arya asked trying to seem ignorant of the boy’s existence. The dwarf was surprised at her question and looked at her with his mismatched eyes. For a mere moment she thought she was made.

“Gendry Waters is the first baseborn son, in fact, first son of Robert Baratheon,” the dwarf said. It suddenly all made sense: the Lannisters all wanting him dead, the thick, black hair and the piercing blue eyes. He looked just like the late king. He even had his quick temper. It was often said throughout the canals of Braavos that the king on the Iron Throne was a bastard of Cercei. Arya suddenly understood.

“What will be his reward if he was to help you,” Arya probed. She couldn’t care less what the Imp had to offer as long as he did not kill him.

“Gold, glory, legitimacy whatever can convince him I will be sure it is done. I always pay my debts,” the Imp replied. Arya already knows that none of those things will convince Gendry. But she could convince him, that she knew. She thought about the chance to go home and to finally pay her own debts to the Lannisters. She toyed with her blade that she used to kill the Darkstar as she contemplated her answer.

She nodded and the Dwarf replied by giving her Needle. She bowed a goodbye and both turned to leave each other, unknowing when they would see each other again.  Before they disappeared from view, the Imp shouted out, “I do not want anyone to know this plan. Gendry must be kept in the dark of this until the last possible second. Keep your intentions close to you. That is vital.” She nodded in agreement and turned to go to the House of Black and White one last time to gather her things.

The temple was dark as many silently said their last prayer before going to the Many Face God. Arya went down below and grabbed the only bag she had and filled it with her only possessions: an extra dress, a necklace of black pearls that Ser Goalumn had given to her, and of course Needle. _I will need some clothes,_ she thought.

As she headed to the front door she was stopped in her tracks by the sound of a woman crying out, “I need to speak to a priest. Please give me a priest,” Thinking it was another who wanted to meet the Many Face God Arya obliged to help the woman as her last act as a Faceless Man. To her surprise this woman was a priestess herself, only she wore red and worshiped the God R’holler.

“I need to speak with you Arya Stark,” she said the ruby on her neck fluttered with a mystic life force and her red eyes stared straight into Arya’s. Arya prepared her blade for the worst.

“I have seen it in the flames. Men with no face will bring darkness and extinguish the fires that light the Harpies. It will be then that a white war starts. With without the light set forth, the darkness will consume us all. Only the blue eyed prince can forge a sword of light and lead the lighted ones against the darkness. However, to forge this sword, one must have great sacrifice and pain in his journey to reveal his true nature,” she prophesized.

Arya stared at the woman and chewed her lip. She had no idea what to do or say to this woman. “Why are you telling me this,” she asked.

“You know the man who needs to forge the sword. A bastard who has king’s blood coursing through his veins. Sacrifice will be required to know his true nature, for Azor Ahai will be reborn to bring the light of dragons to end all darkness. If only the Second Doom is stopped. Dragons follow light. Only the light of Lightbringer will control the Dragons,” the priestess said before she took a dagger under her cloak and stabbed herself in the heart. She collapsed and blood ran from her chest, and Arya comforted her during her last moments in this world.

The legend of Azor Ahai was one told by many in Essos. Many believed that Daenerys Targaryen was the Azor Ahai reborn, but what if it was wrong? A prince with blue eyes, could forge a sword to lead the dragons out of Darkness. Arya could not help but think of Gendry, a bastard of the king with blue eyes, in that smithy forging a sword. Her loins melted, but what intrigued her more is the part of the tale of Nissa Nissa. Great sacrifice is needed to reveal his true nature. Can Arya help him find his true nature? Arya contemplated this, and knew why the red priestess came to her. Gendry was the Prince that was Promised, and he will forge the sword. Arya was going to help him, even sacrifice all she had to save Westros from Darkness set by men with no face.

Suddenly the room was set in a different light. Could the men with no face be the men who trained her, fed her, and bathed her for over ten years? Arya shuddered at the thought. The Doom of Valyria was to happen again? Were they truly evil and wanting to bring Darkness throughout the world? Arya chewed her lip even more. She shuddered as she went through the ebony and weirwood doors for the final time. She quietly said good-bye, and set off to find the one man that truly mattered, a bastard who has king’s blood coursing through his veins.


End file.
